


Occupation

by threewalls



Series: Schirra [25]
Category: Final Fantasy XII
Genre: 705 OV, Denial, Grief, M/M, Nalbina, Pickup Lines, Substitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-08-15
Updated: 2007-08-15
Packaged: 2017-10-15 02:51:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/156284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/threewalls/pseuds/threewalls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vossler only goes back to Nalbina once.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Occupation

**Author's Note:**

> Written with thanks to lynndyre for beta.

Vossler has timed his passage well, arriving just as the sun sets over the Estersand. He falls into the thick evening crowd passing into the barbican.

The war's effect is so obvious here, Nalbina an architecturally shattered shell of what it was. Where once there were dozens, now Nalbina Town's only 'tavern' is a tent-stall in the West Ward. It is open on all four sides, identifiable not by a name, or a sign, but for drawing almost all the town, occupying forces inclusive. The Imperials form an armoured phalanx around the stall itself, looking in. Some are drunk already.

Vossler presses toward the bar by slow increments, keeping his face down. He drinks amongst his fellow Dalmascans, and he listens, and only asks the questions that she has assured him are subtle enough to only be meaningful for those they might recruit to their cause.

But, even more so than is in Rabanastre, the talk in Nalbina is of rebuilding, not the devastation, of employment with the Empire, not the lives lost. Vossler learns that after the fortress' foundations have been stabilised, building works will turn to re-opening the aerodrome; that the Empire would welcome any of her new children into military service; that the Empire has mastered the brewing of at least three different colours of beer, but they all taste like nanna piss.

No one mentions that their king was murdered here. The Kingslayer is mentioned once, to curses, spits and growls.

He'll not come here again.

\---

Nalbina Town has always had a reputation for attracting itinerant workers, more men than women. Vossler recalls it once offered them private lodgings, not mere stone walls and shadows between night-abandoned stalls. Of course, he wasn't always that picky when he was younger, either.

The man braced beneath him is bulk and hard muscle, nothing of the willowy grace of youth. He bought Vossler his last beer, and followed him out of the throng. His voice is rough, low, western Nabradian twang; nothing like Her Majesty, no further fodder for Vossler's undisciplined dreams.

A cloud passes; the man's brown hair lightens in the moonlight.

Vossler renews his assault, hastening his thrusts, until there is nothing but darkness, heat, friction and flesh.

\---

Vossler fastens his belt with haste, the teleport stone in his pocket stabbing into his thigh. He has never left her alone for so long, should not have left her for so long, not to no purpose but to protect her from _this_?

"Back at the Tent, you said--"

"No."

All night, Vossler's knuckles have twitched at the cautiously hopeful faces, every reiteration of 'peace', instead of 'occupation.' He thinks of his lady, waiting alone for his return, and refuses that this should be what breaks his control.

"I fled to Nabudis--" the man begins again, stepping forward, though still hobbled by his shorts, "--when they took Landis all those years ago, as I fled here when they destroyed that city. But now, I would fight... at your side."

"Try Bhujerba," Vossler says, already walking away, thinking of the cut of his disguise's red vest and Ondore's betrayal.

His resistance will never need men like this.


End file.
